I recently found myself on the Lower East Side, arms loaded with the has-beens and cast-offs of my corporate wardrobe. It was a drizzly Sunday evening and I had been invited to a working mom’s clothing swap. The idea was that we would all dump our designer hardly-worns in a friend’s living room. Then paw through them. See if we liked anything. Leave with new items at zero cost. Zero guilt. A binge perfectly tailored to these layoff-laden times. Turns out we were merely the last to dip into a national trend.
I had no intention of picking up anything. I was merely trying to purge my closets of the detritus of my corporate wardrobe: the black Prada suit I hadn’t worn in a decade; the downtown working girl ensembles I had picked up at a Steven Alan sample sale in my twenties. I merely thought I would be doing a sartorial dump. But with thick black coffees in hand, we quickly defaulted to our gatherer natures and were soon, voila, shopping in each other’s closets.
The ceos among us barked out who among us should try on which items; the corporate followers, such as myself, did as we were told.
I had no idea I would find myself bagging up an entire Tory Burch mini-wardrobe from a beauty executive friend. We working moms had gone up and down in sizes over the years. We were all over the map in disposable incomes. But what united us was our mutual jonesing for a lift without having to whip out the plastic. We soon found that we were copping some serious dressing-room highs. “Imagine we are at Barney’s right now,” I kept saying. “We are at Barney’s!”
The Barney’s goggles actually turned other people’s cast-offs into choice bounty. I even picked up some brand-new Catherine Malandrino items—tags attached.
Our next swap is slated for the spring. For me it was a lesson in the upside of the downside.
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